


The Muted Bard

by AwkwardDuckProducktions



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Acid splash is great but not as great as an axe, Aftermath of Torture, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Friendship, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I forgot that Wilde had once dealt with a fucking barbed gag and now you won't forget either, Torture, We all have our Kevins, blood mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21800932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardDuckProducktions/pseuds/AwkwardDuckProducktions
Summary: What happens if you take away a Bard's source of magic?>:3c
Relationships: Azu & Oscar Wilde
Comments: 8
Kudos: 82





	1. Chapter 1

Wilde was silent.

He needed to be. He had to be. He mustn't talk. Mustn't do any spells.

He was well acquainted with these metal gags.

Time passed him by without a second glance in the dark cell. Not enough for him to waste away, but he could feel it happening. His stomach opened its hungry mouth and gnawed on itself, just as he had the first hour against the barbs of his gag. The blood had long dried since then, but where the barbs had pierced his skin refused to seal completely. He had gotten used to it.

Wilde was silent.

Even when the rare occasion his captors would visit. They promise freedom if he just told them everything. Told him where he sent his "little heroes" off to. Wilde would every time narrow his eyes and roll back over. That earned him kicks to his stomach and stomps to his joints and hands tied behind him. But he won in his books whenever his captors would leave in anger. If he could smile, he would.

Wilde was silent.

He had always expected death to come to him in a loud explosion or a screaming lover. The quiet approach just annoyed him. His long affair with the end shouldn't come to its last chapter in silence. In everything he had fought against. He wanted to stand and fight death once more, and when it bested him he would go willingly. But there was little feeling in his legs anymore. His hands laid uselessly behind him. Excruciating pain he had become numb to wrapped his body like a mummy. He didn't even have the ability to flip off death, let alone fight it.

Wilde was nearly asleep when he started hearing shouting far off. The shouting became clash and clangs of armor and the rumble of explosions. The noise grew louder as the fighting for closer. He tried to muster the energy to charm his way into whatever mercenary group that decided fighting this corrupted religion's home base so he could make his way back before his own mercenaries returned even missed him, but it was hard to even stay awake. When the fighting stopped, he gave up trying. They were dumb for trying and now they were dead, just as he was dumb for hoping and soon to join them.

"Wilde!" Had death chosen a familiar voice to claim him? What a bastard. To even choose someone that was alive...

Unless...

Surely his own team hadn't perished. All the pain came creeping back to him as he couldn't stop his mind from veering off the edge. His arms trembled and shook his chains as thoughts of his friends lying dead in some far off castle because of him. He had sent them to their deaths. The last people he had cared about.

"I think I hear something down here!" If they were but ghosts of his failures, why must death keep up the game? He figured out their fates, why thrown in the theatrics? But still two pairs of boots came running down the dark dungeon.

"Wilde? Are you down here?" Hamid called out again. He was probably the first to die, and the first to find him to extract his punishment for sending him to his demise. Claws against the metal bars as little hands gripped on the small window to his cell. "Wilde! Can you hear me?" 

Maybe if he stayed quiet, he wouldn't have to face his punishment. Like when he was younger, hiding in the closet away from an angry mother. "Step back, Azu. I'm going to try to melt the lock." There was the sound of hissing acid and the smell assaulted Wilde's nose. Until there was a heavy clang and light poured in as the door swung open. "That works too."

"Go tell the others that we found him." Her gentle command Wilde had always envied. Was never opened for discussion or talking back but never was harsh. Hamid ran off as Azu came inside. A kind hand grabbed his shoulder, but was still a hand nevertheless. And Wilde hadn't experienced one without harmful intent for much longer than his imprisonment. His body jolted and Azu lets out a sigh. "Glad you're still with us."

Wilde found himself unable to share the same sentiment as the facts settled in. Her hands made quick work of his gag, carefully easing the bloody device out and tossing it far far away from them. She treated him like dried clay petals after freeing his arms and legs. But there was her hand again, now too close to his mouth. His jaw ached but still he bit down on her finger that trailed too close in examination. Not that he could actually do any harm, her gloves and skin much too strong, but he had to prove to himself he still should live. "I'm sorry." Her last words spoken as a prayer as she let her goddess heal him.

Wilde remained silent as his body knitted back together. There was nothing in him to make a sound anymore. Which must have scared Azu more; his broken body gathered into her arms just to hold him close. He remained silent still, unable to do much besides burying his face into her neck. Roses and cardamom... she smelled of roses and cardamon.

  
  


Wilde was silent though his mind was not. In his sleep, dreams of the torture her had endured and the pain he had suffered would morph and twist and infect his mind until the fear itself would wake him. In the dark room he recognized as his own, nothing was hard besides the rough wind outside and his heavy breathing inside. He tried to steady himself with his back against the wall by counting backwards from ten.

Ten...

Nine...

Eight...

_ -the gag yanked tightly on, clawing its way deep into his mouth- _

Ten...

Nine...

_ -all the weight of the head captor came down on his hands- _

Ten...

"Wilde?" He hadn't noticed Azu opening the door, poking her head in. "I got some tea, if you want it." He stared at her, hoping she would get the idea. But still she came in and made her way across the room. Watching her from the far edge of the bed made him safe and isolated. Not that he had any reason to fear her. She healed him. He should be grateful.

_ I should be grateful. Why can't I be grateful? _

"I honestly thought if you were quiet for a full day, you might explode." She joked, two invisible hooks pulled her lips up into a smile. He couldn't respond as she took a seat beside him on the bed. He couldn't be grateful.

_ I need to be grateful. _

"You don't have to rush, you know. We know that the gods couldn't stop you from talking if they wanted to." Azu kept her distance and still it was almost too much. "Just you work on you, and we'll handle the rest for a bit." She was as every bit her patron wanted, Wilde noticed as he scooted closer to her. A welcoming warm hearth in the endless winter. Her smile relaxed as he sat next to her, shoulders falling from where they were strung up with anxiety. "Is it alright if I put my arm around your shoulders?" She asked.

And she respected his decision when he shook his head. The violent memories burrowed once more into the depths of his mind as he tentatively laid his head on her shoulder. And in the moment, he was almost glad for the quiet still she offered. For Wilde remained silent, even when the tears fell.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilde has always been a brat and it shows

When Wilde was referred to as "Ossie," he made a flower appear in his hand. It was a little thing, just a common flower that littered the fields of his home. He toddled over to his mother with a grin only three years old could make. She was not as happy as he was, especially when she went to take his little flower but grabbed nothing but air. He giggled and stomped his feet in delight.

"Oscar." He stopped giggling for he knew that he was "Oscar" when he was in trouble. His mother took his wrist instead, "None of this ever again." Her grip was tight as she shook it, "you don't bring this into the house, do you hear me?" He reluctantly nodded yes with tears in his eyes as he dropped his flower. 

As he sat beside his mother in tears and hiccups, mourning his only friend, he thought of her words very carefully. She had said he couldn't bring it into the house, but she never said not to make it in the house. The little toddler schooled his face to remain upset until bedtime as to not raise suspicion. Once he was alone tucked safely into bed, he pictures his little friendly flower once again. Hands remained opened, eyes remained closed. When he peeked, he nearly squealed in delight. For there in his hand was his little flower. His little secret.

  
  


The years went by and "secret" became "secret holder" in the way that is only truly makes sense to a young child. Late at night, he would make his flower appear and tell it things too dangerous for paper.

" _ I'm going to study magic."  _ Five years old Wilde whispered.

" _ I don't think Zues likes me."  _ Ten years old tear stained with a heart full of worry whispered.

_ "I think I like boys."  _ Black eyed fifteen years old whispered with a grin that dared every god.

" _ I'm running away tomorrow."  _ Eighteen years old Wilde whispered for good measure, clutching his acceptance letter close.

Though embarrassing at times, late night conversations with his friend wasn't something he ever felt he needed to let go of. Not yet, he would tell himself before his hands and mouth could complete the spell, not tonight. By the age of twenty three, earning his place among the finest in work with the Meritocrats, Wilde had given up the pretend that he was ever going to stop. 

* * *

The last few months has been the longest he has gone without summoning his flower. Wilde was silent. Even without the gag, he still felt its claws and where they dug in. Little scars littered around his mouth that ached when he moved his lips. Eating was already hard, a minor torture forced on him everyday two to three times a day by his team, speaking was near impossible. He hadn't tried since before he was captured. The thought of talking made his mind lose connection, left in an unresponsive body as memories played all at once. Once, Zolf had said an offhanded joke and then spent hours by his side trying to undo the damage. He wanted to slap him and Zolf is very lucky that his body refused to do what he desired of it. A very lucky bastard indeed.

Just because Wilde was silent, doesn't mean he was completely without means of communication. Everyone had learned that when he glared at you and you feel your blood turn to ice, it meant no. Azu was the most respectful of his choices, even though she had picked him up and carried him to the table to eat a couple of times. Deep down in his heart, he might have appreciated her intivative. Very deep down. She had his well-being in mind, as they all did. And with gritted teeth, he can  _ understand _ .

Doesn't change the fact he was still silent. And despite that fact, he had been trying. Every god knew he was trying, he made sure of it, cursing each of their names down the line. If they actually heard his bitter prayers was another story. He cursed Zues the most as he was the most familiar with being a failure in his eyes. The only part of him of use was gone; taken from him by those who worshipped him. Was this an overdue punishment? To be completely unbiasedly fair, Zues started it.

_ No... No _ , Wilde chided himself like his own mother,  _ don't go down that path.  _ Just continue to be the brat he had always been. The jackass he made everyone believe he was. And keep trying. He had never been one to drop to his knees without a fight... Except in certain cases.

This was not one however. 

His hands opened, his eyes closed. He focused as hard as possible and then some more. And in a crackling whisper, Wilde tried once more. He felt no change and for a moment, he gave up. That was until he opened eyes and he saw the familiar white clover lying in his hand. And through a pain he had feared, Wilde smiled.


End file.
